


Pathway to Perdition

by Hijja



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 09:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16427168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hijja/pseuds/Hijja
Summary: When mysterious rumours about Horcruxes reach the Minister of Magic out of Azkaban, Percy Wesley is sent to investigate. And suddenly, he finds himself in the company of two enemies he'd rather not have faced ever again...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cedar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cedar/gifts).



> Written in December 2005 as a Christmas fic for the lovely Cedar, grown ever-so-slightly out of proportion. Abject thanks to Seventines and Lazy_neutrino, whose rapid-fire beta saved my sorry behind. 
> 
> **Warning** for a bit of slash and disturbing content overall... If you're sensitive, avoid!

A junior aide to the Minister of Magic, Percy Weasley suspects, should not be sent to Azkaban.

And yet here he is, following a gnarled warden through the dank corridors of the fortress. Even inside, the song of the sea whipping the steep cliffs of the island fills his ears.

Although Percy is a Ministry representative, the Keeper of the Keys of Azkaban has not received him upon his arrival, just sent the warden to escort him down to Lucius Malfoy's cell. Percy is conscious of the slight, and regrets the time spent on preparing and rehearsing the few short lines carefully designed to convey nothing of Minister Scrimgeour's intentions. It is not, however, a slight directed at Percy specifically, and he doesn't mind escaping the notice of the ancient Keeper, whom decades of ruling over the fortress have turned into a frightening creature of legend. A fame only demystified recently by his notorious inability to keep either Death Eaters or Dementors confined inside the prison...

No, Percy is not unhappy about not encountering another scary authority figure. Not when the authority figure he has come to meet is intimidating enough. Percy's palms moisten, and the same nervous sweat starts pooling under his armpits.

Minister Scrimgeour has not been pleased about having Malfoy's letter foisted on him, smuggled out of Azkaban in however convoluted ways. Not after publicly denouncing the preceding administration's fraternisation with high-ranking Death Eaters. It is, Percy suspects, why he has found himself on the job. The Minster respects his hard work and dedication, no doubt about it, but is not above subtle reminders to Percy's close ties with the former Minister. He was also less than impressed by Percy's failure to soften up young Potter when the Minister approached him the previous Christmas.

Yet Minister Scrimgeour is a shrewd, sharp man who will not disregard an offer of 'information pertaining to the defeat of the Dark Lord', even if it comes from Cornelius Fudge's disgraced old friend Lucius Malfoy.

Passing through the maze of dusty corridors, Percy mourns the way his new robes snag on jagged stone, their hem whirling up dust and debris with every step. He'd _known_ it would be dirty, and yet the thought of facing Lucius Malfoy did not permit him to dress any way but smartly. The man will have no reason to look down at him as if he were at a bedraggled beggar; not that he'd have any right, being a condemned Death Eater.

The massive stone door the warden stops in front of is no different from any other in the long corridor they've passed through. Percy quickly wipes his hands on his robe, pulse hammering in his throat.

"That's 'im in 'ere," the guard drawls. "'e'll be restrained, of course, but if yeh wan' me inside with yeh-?"

Percy shakes his head quickly. The Minster's business is confidential and Percy will not hide behind a guard while facing a restrained Lucius Malfoy. He's a Gryffindor, after all.

The guard shrugs. "I'll be outside, then. Knock when yer done with 'im."

The door slides open with the tortured squeal of stone meeting gravel, and Percy steps inside after a quick, hard swallow.

He blinks twice against the dimness of the cell, although Malfoy is hard to overlook even in the insufficient light from the two Lumos Torches on the wall. The Death Eater is seated at a massive stone table that dwarfs the tiny room, hands cuffed crosswise and then manacled to the table top in front of him for additional security. On the opposite side of the table, another rough-hewn stone chair waits empty for Percy's use.

"Mr Malfoy," Percy says as soon as the door has banged shut again, hoping his voice sounds shaky only to his own ears. "The Ministry of Magic has received notice that you intend to... reconsider your loyalties to You Know Who and that you claim to be in possession of information pertaining to his weaknesses?" He turns the carefully rehearsed sentence into a question halfway through, and Malfoy looks straight at him, uncomfortably direct.

"Won't you take a seat?" he offers, irony treacle-thick in his voice. Percy flushes and considers keeping his distance; but it would make him look pompous to insist on standing, or - even worse - insecure. He slides onto the free chair opposite Malfoy, which turns out to be as uncomfortable as it looks, carelessly hewn and cold. Malfoy sits on his without betraying a sign of discomfort, so Percy suppresses any grimace of his own.

He puts his slim briefcase on the table, which is empty except for a few blank sheets of parchment and Percy's plain blue-grey Quick Quotes Quill. There will be no written report on this conversation.

"So they sent you," Malfoy observes.

His mouth turns down in an ever so slight contemptuous arc as if he was being called upon to review Percy's performance, and found it wanting. There is a reason why Percy has always avoided encounters with this particular criminal even way back when he'd still been Minister Fudge's aide, to the extent of locking himself in the lavatories until Malfoy had left. He had no taste for standing there, tongue-tied and red-faced and being pinned by the man's derisive stare while he sneered at Percy's family. Percy grits his teeth and says, "Yes, me."

"Yes, indeed. I recognise your origins, of course. Which one of Arthur's are you again?"

"Percy," Percy replies, trying not to snarl too obviously because yes, it might not just be mockery. Even Mr Crouch had not always been able to tell him apart from the anonymous mass of Weasley brothers. A second later he regrets not having given his full name, even though he's always hated 'Percival'.

"Ah, yes," Malfoy muses. "The traitor."

Bitterness spills in Percy's chest, and his glare burns through his professional mask.

"I don't think that working for the Ministry instead of aiding the split of the magical community makes me a traitor!" he snaps. And no, Malfoy does not deserve a reply. Percy's ears burn with the shame of being so easily backed into a corner.

Malfoy's sculpted lips curl into a thin smile. "Oh, you don't have to justify yourself to me, Percy - you don't mind me using your given name, do you? It makes it easier to tell you apart from all the other Mr Weasleys."

And although he should object to familiarity from a Death Eater, Percy really doesn't mind. As much as he despises the man, Malfoy has been respectable once. He's had money, status and manners even when his reputation was slightly tainted by his past... indiscretions. There was a time when rumours of being a 'Dark Wizard' still sounded somewhat more glamorous than being known as 'Arthur's young one' and all the lack of expectation that came with that.

"I'm not here to speak about me, Mr Malfoy," he returns to the topic at hand. "I'm here to discuss what you might do to aid the Ministry's battle against He Who Must Not Be Named."

"So assiduous..." At the close proximity, Percy can see that Malfoy's long, fine hair is tangled and grimy, his grey prison robes threadbare at the elbows, and that there is dirt under his fingernails where his hands are chained to the table. The loss of polish should make the tight ring of apprehension inside Percy's chest ease, but it doesn't. "Tell me, then, Percy - how have relations progressed between the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix after Albus Dumbledore's... unfortunate demise?"

"... in which your fugitive son has been implicated," Percy adds with a touch of malice.

Percy remembers young Malfoy, pale spitefulness sniping at him in a corridor in front of some lumbering goons. A thoroughly unpleasant boy.

"My _son_ has been forced to do the Dark Lord's bidding with threats to his mother's life and my own," Malfoy shoots back, discomposed for the first time. "A guarantee of his safety - and that of my wife - is one of the conditions the Ministry will have to meet if you want my cooperation."

"Do you really believe you are in a position to demand concessions?" Percy asks, incredulous.

Malfoy's smile vanishes. "Oh, very much so. Although it is not so much the Ministry I happen to be interested in, beyond its ability to effect my release from this inhospitable place." A grimace twists the arrogant face, like the response to a faintly aching tooth. "It will be necessary to contact Harry Potter, or whoever handles him these days; I don't assume he's permitted to roam free on his own."

As always, the name 'Harry Potter' serves to raise Percy's hackles. He still retains some affection for the shy, ill-used child who had been a first-year at Hogwarts and Ron's quiet shadow at the Burrow. And who then had, almost imperceptibly, morphed into an arrogant, hostile youth who revived You Know Who, dragged Percy's young siblings off into hair-raising dangers, had antagonised the Ministry and brought about the downfall of Minister Fudge. Now once or twice Mr Fudge might have acted too imprudent and gullible for a wizard in his position, but Percy had still respected him.

The dislike on Percy's face gives him away, and Malfoy smiles, slow and poisonous. "How very rare to encounter someone who is not thoroughly taken in by famous Mr Potter..." Percy tries to think of a way to object without quite objecting, but can't find words to achieve that feat.

"Now, Percy..." Malfoy leans back as much as his cuffs allow, "what do you know about Horcruxes?"

Percy is quite sure he's never heard the word before, even in his NEWT-level Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts studies. He racks his brain for a moment, but comes up empty. "I've never encountered the term," he admits stiffly, the tips of his ears heating as if he'd been caught unprepared in class.

"Ah, the joys of Hogwarts' selective education," Malfoy sighs. "It's unsurprising, really, that the Dark Lord could become this powerful with the late lamented Albus censoring knowledge as he did."

Again, Percy wishes he could say something, anything, in defence of his beloved school, but Malfoy is right - if Dumbledore had not been so secretive with Minister Scrimgeour about the sources of his knowledge, so obstinately intent on having his own way, things would never have deteriorated this far.

"Horcruxes," Malfoy explains with a pitying shake of the head, "are what the Dark Lord has used to cheat death. He split his soul. I'm sure that if you quote the term to your elders at the Ministry, at least one or two might recognise it."

"And how-" Percy swallows to keep his voice from croaking- "how will your knowledge of these... 'Horcruxes' contribute to the Ministry's struggle against He Who Must Not Be Named?"

"They need to be destroyed in order to give an attack on the Dark Lord himself any chance of succeeding." Malfoy smiles, very mildly. "I happen to know the location of one; how to access it and - most importantly - how to destroy it. I would assume that is enough to warrant concessions from the Ministry."

Percy tries fitfully to rein in his thoughts, which are running away in several directions at once. Malfoy may be trying to hoodwink him; the story could be entirely bogus, designed to mislead the Ministry, which will, in the end, fall back on Percy as the scapegoat. But if it is true, and Malfoy really knows how to execute a step in the downfall of the Dark Lord... Malfoy surely has every reason to be furious at You Know Who. And if he, Percy, can contribute to such a victory, it will mean a jump-start to his career. It will mean showing certain people that you do not have to antagonise the Ministry to fight against the Dark...

"I would think so," he finally nods, trying to appear indifferent. Don't promise anything, he tells himself sternly. "I'm sure that improved conditions of confinement could be arranged-" He falls silent at Malfoy's contemptuous snort.

"Don't try to bargain with me, Percy, you're not made for it." Percy's lips thin as he tries to figure out whether that would qualify as an insult or an underhanded compliment. Coming from an arch-Slytherin, it's most likely the latter.

"A full pardon," Malfoy clarifies. "Auror protection for my wife and son, as well as for myself after I've aided you in destroying the Horcrux. I am not going to bargain, Percy, and you may tell Rufus Scrimgeour that I am rather unimpressed by Veritaserum and minor Unforgivables."

There is an offensive subtext to this. But Percy has taken the minutes when Minister Scrimgeour debated the re-instigation of the Unforgivables for Aurors from the Crouch era with the heads of Magical Law Enforcement. He knows that the Ministry is not as averse to torture as it should be. He can't see someone like Malfoy breaking, however.

The Death Eater gives him a sardonic wink, as if he were able to read Percy's mind. And there is a spell like that, isn't there, and done wandless too... He's seen it referenced in internal memos on PROTECTING MINISTERIAL INTEGRITY AGAINST THE DARK FORCES.

"Unpleasant as such an encounter may be, I'd suggest you go and see young Potter to verify my information about the Horcruxes," Malfoy continues. "If he has shared it with anyone, Albus Dumbledore will have shared his knowledge with the 'Chosen One' he hopes will bring about the downfall of the Dark Lord. After that, you can negotiate my release with your superiors."

Percy's fingers close around the blue-grey plume of his Quick Quotes Quill at being sent off so much like a messenger boy, until he realises he will damage the fragile - and expensive - quill if he grips it any more tightly. He lets go and sweeps the quill into his briefcase. Malfoy gives him a hard, thoroughly unamused stare.

"And if even a hint of a rumour of these... _negotiations_ gets out to endanger Draco and Narcissa, the one responsible will find himself out of a life to enjoy, no matter whether I'm imprisoned or not."

A hot flush of rage colours Percy's cheeks. "I am not in the habit of betraying the Ministry's confidentiality!" he growls, low and angry.

Malfoy slides his eyes over him, almost indecently probing as if he were looking at Percy for the first time. Then he nods. "Yes; I think you can keep your masters' secrets."

Percy remembers poor Bartemius Crouch and how his own loyalty was misconstrued as excessive ambition during the subsequent inquiry. He'd been ready to clear his desk after Minister Scrimgeour was appointed, because of his close ties with Mr Fudge; but his loyalty had impressed the new Minister enough to keep him on. Well, that, and the fact that he was still a Weasley and that his family had all but adopted Harry Potter.

In bitter silence, he gathers up his briefcase and makes to stand when Malfoy leans forward, chest digging into the iron cuffs around his wrists. The movement somehow glues Percy to his seat.

"And when you speak to Harry Potter," Malfoy breathes, and Percy has to lean closer to the man until a tangled strand of hair brushes his face because his tone is so soft, "and when he mocks you - and trust me, he will - tell him _this_..."


	2. Chapter 2

Percy procrastinates for two days after his interview with Malfoy before seeking out Potter's relatives' house in Little Whinging. Two days during which he makes a perfunctory report to the Minister, only to receive a verbal pat on the head and the double-edged assurance that 'the Malfoy affair' was entirely his to handle, and that - 'as a family friend' - he would be perfectly suited to speak with 'the Chosen One'. The sarcasm of it is treacle-thick.

He spends a whole day digging for hints about Horcruxes in the Ministry Archives. The few vague references are surrounded by the sort of panicked, evasive gibberish with which wizarding tomes tend to skirt topics that make their authors nervous. Percy remembers encountering the same when he tried to research Parselmouths during the Basilisk year at Hogwarts. Of course, the Ministry libraries are even more heavily purged than Hogwarts', which has already invited Malfoy's scorn. For the first time in his career, Percy wishes he'd seriously pursued an apprenticeship with the Unspeakables; if anyone has that sort of information, they will.

When it has become painfully obvious that the whole affair will not just miraculously resolve itself, he grudgingly Transfigures his work robes into a smart pinstriped Muggle suit in the best style of Mr Crouch - Percy didn't receive an 'Exceeds Expectations' NEWT in Muggle Studies for nothing, after all. He Apparates to Little Whinging, arriving at a careful distance from the Dursleys' house. Potter's friends have undoubtedly - and as undoubtedly without a Ministry permit - set up Anti-Apparition wards around the place. Percy is aware that he's one of the few people who know Potter's address, ever since the twins and Ron so irresponsibly flew father's Ford Anglia there a few years back.

He isn't quite sure what to expect of Potter's relatives. He's heard tales of abuse from his brothers, but Potter himself has always been suspiciously silent on the matter. And Number Four looks very respectable - a tidy house, a neat garden with flowers peeking brightly out of well-pruned flowerbeds.

The Muggle suit is uncomfortably warm for a mid-July afternoon, and the sunlight flashes on Percy's horn-rimmed glasses as he crosses the street to Number Four Privet Drive. When he rings the doorbell, a heavy-set moustached Muggle tears the door open from inside, beaming at him from under a flat tartan cap.

"Ah, Mr Wayne, how splendid to meet you at last!" he bellows, shaking Percy's hand like a pump while holding on to a bag full of what looks like a crossover between wands and Beaters' bats. "You left your equipment in the car, I assume? Shall we head for the course?"

Nervously, Percy disentangles his hand. "Mr Dursley, my name is Percy Weasley, junior aide to the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour." The Muggle retreats a few steps, trying to hide behind his wands as his face darkens alarmingly. "I'd like to speak to your nephew, Harry Potter."

"I don't want your kind in my home!" the Muggle - Dursley - roars.

"I'd have owled you beforehand, but Ministry policy frowns on such disturbances in a Muggle locality," Percy adds in his politest voice.

Dursley shuts his mouth audibly, and peers at him sideways. "Well, at least you're more civil than the old one," he mumbles, then turns to yell up the carpeted staircase to the upper floor. "Boy!"

After a pointed pause in which the Muggle's already red face assumes a distinct shade of frenzied purple, a door opens upstairs, followed by the pitter-patter of feet on the carpet. When Potter appears on top of the landing, he looks as messy as always: uncombed hair, old, battered clothes, the same sullen expression on features that have become thinner and somewhat more sharply defined since Percy saw him last, at Albus Dumbledore's funeral.

"What did I tell you about any more freaks visiting, boy?" Dursley growls.

Potter, who stares down at Percy with a murderous expression on his face and his wand barely concealed behind the banister, ignores his uncle completely. "What do you want here?" he hisses.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Percy repeats, "I'm here on Ministry business." He directs his words at the irate Muggle, who seems a less worrisome antagonist. At least he has no wand!

Mr Dursley's thick throat swells like something frog-like, but then he squints at Percy maliciously. "He's in trouble again, is he?"

Confirmation is on the tip of Percy's tongue, especially since it might rid him of the bothersome man faster, but he settles for, "Not right at the moment." It won't do to have an even more hostile 'Chosen One' on his hands.

"All right, then," Dursley snaps, and, with a dark glower at his nephew, "And none of your funny business when Mr Wayne calls, or..." The last bit is accompanied by an eloquent slashing motion across his red neck. The Muggle stalks back into what must be the living room, where nervous voices start chattering as soon as the door slams shut behind him.

Potter keeps staring at Percy, his face a study in hostility. After a long, unpleasant moment of silence, he shrugs. "All right, then. Come up if you must."

He hovers uneasily until Percy has made it up the stairs, and twice looks back as he precedes him to the last door of the upstairs corridor, as if he's never had a visitor, or a mate over for the afternoon.

Potter's room has a complicated bolt lock at the door, which Percy assumes is a security measure. Not much use against a Death Eater attack, of course, but evidence that the Dursleys are concerned about their protege, where the boy himself is thoughtlessly negligent. He's not even made an attempt to verify Percy's identity, although he has been issued the relevant Ministry pamphlets.

Inside, the room is small, starkly lit by a single ecklectical bulb hanging by a wire from the ceiling. Crates full of discarded toys line the far wall, while the floor is littered with crumpled socks and lint and crumbs of messily devoured owl treats, especially around the cage that holds Potter's snowy owl. There are no chairs, only the bed, unmade and with a copy of Viridian's Curses and Counter-Curses thrown face-down onto the pillow. Percy scrunches up his nose - he keeps his flat in Margin Alley painfully neat, after having had to live with the chaos at the Burrow all his life.

Potter closes the door behind him and straightens his back, giving Percy leave to sit on the bed with an unconvincing wave of his hand. Percy ignores it.

"You know, you shouldn't come to me to make up for your betrayal," Potter drawls after it's become evident that neither he nor Percy intend to move. "You should go and apologise to your parents instead."

Percy's neck stiffens, and he takes a furious step forward. "I'm not here to apologise, Potter," he spits. "Not to my father, and least of all to you!"

"Well," Potter replies coldly, " you should. Or can't you see how much it's hurt your mum and dad that you turned against them like that?"

A sharp laugh escapes Percy's mouth. "Me, turned against them? I don't know who told you that story, but you couldn't be further off the mark."

"You helped Fudge go after Dumbledore," Potter snaps, looking hard-pressed to keep his voice level. "You were heckling him at my hearing, although all your family are in the Order." He grimaces, rubbing a finger absently over the back of his right hand. "And you wanted Umbridge at Hogwarts, where she was threatening to use the Cruciatus Curse on students!"

Feeling hot under his collar, Percy yells, "That's ridiculous. Dolores Umbridge is a valued colleague and I won't have you bad-mouthing her like that. And as for 'betrayal'-" He has to pause to gulp in air, too angry to think coherently. "My father, Potter, was so sure Fudge would only want to employ me to spy on him, as if I was as useless as him and hadn't run an entire Department and an International Tournament on my own at eighteen. Oh no, just because he never bothered with a real career - even if it would have meant not keeping us at the brink of poverty - I couldn't have one either!" Percy is shaking with rage now, but Potter just narrows his eyes.

"Fudge did use you," he says. "And keep your voice down. My uncle is going to throw a fit if he hears you."

"You think I didn't know that Minister Fudge would want me to keep an eye on my parents?" Percy's voice wavers, although he's trying hard to stay calm. "I was willing to keep an eye on the Minister for the Order in turn, but father never even asked me." He almost chokes on pent-up bitterness, although he's never expected to spill his rage to Potter, of all people. "He just assumed I'd betray them for a chance to make my way in the Ministry. Because I could not possibly be competent, and anybody who manages to be successful where he couldn't has to be crooked." He let his lip curl into a vicious sneer. "How would you've liked it, Potter? If Dumbledore and that crazy godfather of yours had told you 'No, we can't let little Harry go and fight You-Know-Who, he'd go and join him at the first opportunity'?"

Potter cocks his head and looks Percy over quietly for a moment, in which Percy goes even redder at the thought of having so lost his composure.

"I think you misunderstand a lot of things," he says slowly, then shakes his head. "What is this, then? Another of Scrimgeour's attempts to get me to become the Ministry's figurehead?"

Percy eyes him resentfully. "Perhaps you over-estimate your importance."

Potter's mouth curves down in a way eerily reminiscent of another expression Percy has seen not very long ago. "Or maybe Scrimgeour is over-estimating yours. I've seen that little letter you wrote to Ron two years ago - that I was deranged and that Professor Dumbledore was finished, and how Ron would be so much better off without me." Eyes glitter almost black with hostility. "He showed it to me."

Percy flushes hotly. He'd hoped Ron would have the good sense to keep that letter private; it hadn't been intended for anybody else's eyes. He meets Potter's accusing glare as coolly as possible.

"And you think I was wrong?" Ignoring Potter's snort, he ploughs on. "Only a few weeks earlier, you brought in Cedric Diggory's dead body." Percy has known Cedric, two years his younger, practically predestined to make Head Boy in his final year. "Cedric was a sixth year, a brilliant student - if he could get killed in your company, what chance does Ron have?"

He can see Potter's jaw set, and decides to cut a little deeper, just because he's wanted to scream at him for a long time. "And then you dragged him and Ginny into a Death Eater trap at the Ministry! Hermione nearly died there, and Ron will wear those scars for life!" Percy can still hear his mother's tears hissing on the hot coals when she firecalled him that night.

Potter's face looks white right down to the lips in the harsh light. His eyes are very dark, and Percy feels a moment's flash of regret. He's been vicious, almost like, well, Malfoy. He opens his mouth, but Potter nods at him once, a jerky movement.

"Yes. I almost got Ron and Hermione killed." He laughs sharply. "I got Sirius killed for real there, and Dumbledore..." Potter grimaces, looking as if his mind is very far away. "If I hadn't done - that - to Dumbledore, Snape would never have been able to kill him..." What is he ranting about now? Percy wonders. "You're right, of course. Someone like me should have no friends. At least I broke up with Ginny - that should make you happy, right?"

"Broke up?" Percy echoes. His baby sister and this mad boy? Heat rushes into his face again, this time from anger.

"Are you finished?" Potter trails those injured eyes over his face and away, and Percy goes quiet. "You could just have sent me a Howler instead of coming here, you know?"

Stung, Percy takes a small step towards the young man. "I already said I wasn't here to talk about you."

"No?" Potter turns his head a fraction, though not enough to look at him. "It sounded as if you wanted to say that for quite some time. What did you come here for, then?" He moves over to the birdcage, fiddling with a discarded owl biscuit.

"To talk about Horcruxes."

There is an instant of complete silence, and then Potter moves so fast that Percy finds himself knocked into the wall with Potter's wand at his throat before he can take another breath.

"Who told you about that?" Potter snarls.

Percy gasps, head ringing from the sudden impact. His eyes flicker from the wand that digs into the vulnerable flesh of his throat to Potter's menacing expression. Deranged, and no doubt about it! He sucks in a gulp of air around the pressure on his windpipe and swallows.

"Get that wand away from me right now!" he hisses. "Before I make sure you'll have another Hearing very soon, for manhandling a Ministry official!"

The boy eyes him coldly, although the pressure against his throat lessens a little.

"I haven't even started to manhandle you, Percy," he observes, in that infuriatingly superior way of his. "But if you don't tell me right now who sent you, I might."

Although Percy is not intimidated - Potter will not be trying to hex him, he's just grandstanding, and even the twins do a better job at bullying - Percy decides to oblige. It's what he's come for, after all.

"Put that wand down," he repeats shakily and reaches up to push the tip away. Potter allows it. "Two weeks ago, the Minister was approached by Lucius Malfoy out of Azkaban-"

"Malfoy..." A disconcerting flicker of hatred runs over Potter's face, and his hand grips the wand harder.

"He offered information on how to defeat He Who Must Not Be Named in exchange for his freedom and protection for his family."

"Information on Horcruxes," Potter states flatly.

Percy nods. "Yes. He said You Know Who... split his soul for immortality."

The boy's lips twitch, and his eyes ghost absently over Percy's shoulder and to the barred window. "And you believe him. Because he's such a respectable man and such a good friend of Fudge's..."

Percy rolls his eyes. "No, Potter, I think he's shrewd and extremely dangerous and would lie just to spite me. And the Ministry's archives provided no help at all. But he sent me to you because he said that Dumbledore will have told you if he has told anybody."

Potter's eyes narrow again as he mulls it over for a long minute, and then a sinister line forms around his mouth. He looks like the twins when they're up to a particularly nasty prank. Just scarier.

"I think I know what he's trying to do," Potter finally says. "Malfoy, I mean. I didn't think he knew about it, but Professor Dumbledore said that Voldemort" - Percy flinches, and Potter repeats the name with emphasis - "that Voldemort is so furious with Malfoy because Malfoy played one of the Horcruxes into our hands." He looks up at Percy, eyes glittering. "I think you can go right back and tell Malfoy his offer is worthless. I already know, and that Horcrux is destroyed, and I hope he rots in Azkaban forever!"

Percy sighs. He's seen this coming ever since Malfoy leaned forward to whisper in his ear like a lover. "He said it's not the diary."

"He said what?" Potter yells, eyes fairly bleeding disbelief.

"He said he does not mean the diary you destroyed as a 'precocious, arrogant twelve-year-old'," Percy quotes, the insult imbuing him with a warm glow in the face of Potter's glare. "He said he was referring to the Phial of Ravenclaw that Salazar Slytherin refused, and which was then buried with him."

He watches Potter fall silent, mouth still rounded in shock. The flicker of hope that Malfoy's arrogant certainty was just a scam Percy will be able to expose as such to Minister Scrimgeour is dashed in his chest.

"It is true, then?" he asks shakily.

Potter sucks the inside of his cheek between his teeth and bites down hard. His face, half-averted against the light from the naked light-bulb, looks almost sinister.

At last, he says, "It could be."

Potter's battered trainers scuff at the floor, sending a few flocks of lint flying. "Professor Dumbledore said there are probably six of them. Two are destroyed, one has been stolen and may have been destroyed too. But we know Voldemort was after artefacts from the Founders. The only thing of Gryffindor's is at Hogwarts. He couldn't have got that, but something of Ravenclaw's, associated with Slytherin... he'd have wanted that for sure."

"There were no references to the location of Salazar Slytherin's grave in any of the Ministry's tomes," Percy points out. His search has thrown up a variety of locations associated with the deranged Founder, most of them designed to appeal to Slytherin holiday-makers, but no hint as to where he might have been buried.

A slender hand comes up to mess with that horrendous hair even further. "I just don't know!" Potter's voice sounds shrill in the quiet of the room, and the snowy owl rustles its feathers in its cage. "It sounds too good to be true - like getting everything we'd hoped for on a silver platter..." He bites his lip. "I need to talk to him, Percy. There's no other way."

Percy stares at the agitated boy, remembering again how he's really just a child still, and pushes his glasses up his nose.

"If I draw on the Minister's authority to free Malfoy and it turns out to be a trap, my career will be ruined."

"Your career!" Potter sneers.

"Just because you don't give a damn about what becomes of those around you doesn't mean it's meaningless to me," Percy shoots back. "And yes, you're right, the Hat did consider Sorting me into Slytherin because I was ambitious. I know you've all been saying that behind my back anyway." Sometimes, he still wonders what would have happened if he'd not protested that idea so frantically for fear of disappointing mum and dad.

"Me too."

Hardly listening, Percy's forehead twists itself into a frown at Potter's quiet words. "What?"

"The Hat wanted to Sort me into Slytherin too, Percy."

The idea that Gryffindor's poster child might have ended up among the enemy is enough to make Percy's mouth fall open in shock.

"That's why I don't care about your precious career, or the Minister, or how risky it might be," Potter continues just as softly. "I want you to promise Malfoy whatever you have to to get him to cooperate. Just get him out and set up a meeting, and we're even."

Percy frowns. "We can't trust him!" he repeats.

Potter shakes his head. "There is no we - you do your part with the Minister, and I'll deal with Malfoy."

It gives Percy the strongest urge to thwack the little git over the head. "Oh, honestly, Potter, do you think I'd let an underage schoolboy meet with a known Dark Wizard and just walk away?" He is not Albus Dumbledore, after all!

"I thought you hated me for endangering your family?"

"I'm not a child, Potter!" Percy snaps. "I'm a highly qualified wizard, a former Hogwarts Head Boy, and," he adds pompously, "I have taken my Defence Against the Dark Arts NEWT with 'Exceeds Expectations'. Unlike my little siblings, I can take care of myself."

Potter glares, but has to realise that Percy will be implacable on this matter. He'll never be able to look at himself in the mirror, or face his parents again, if he throws the boy at Malfoy like that. No matter how much he despises him. No matter that he doesn't plan to come face to face with his father again in the foreseeable future.

Now that the decision is made, some of Potter's manic anger seems to evaporate. He walks over to the owl cage, and crouches down to stroke the glossy feathers.

"It'll have to wait until August," he says quietly. "I promised Professor Dumbledore to stay under my relatives' protection till my seventeenth birthday." The snowy owl nips at his fingertips affectionately.

There is something very brittle about the boy whenever he speaks the former Headmaster's name, which makes Percy wonder about his mental state, and makes him disinclined to object. And he'll need the rest of July to set matters in motion with the Ministry without compromising secrecy; he hasn't forgotten Malfoy's threat.

He nods, and turns for the door.

"I'll send you a message by owl when everything is arranged, Potter."


	3. Chapter 3

"Good evening, Mr Weasley." Tom, the barman, raises his cap to Percy and reveals two missing teeth in his smile. He runs a sopping wet cloth over the table top with practiced ease as he squeezes out from behind the bar. The Leaky Cauldron is almost empty this early on a rainy August afternoon.

"You've got the choice of tables." Tom nods at the room. "Will Miss Clearwater be joining you?"

For an instant, Percy just stares ahead, savouring the delicate sting of the question. Penelope loves the atmosphere of the Cauldron, which is why they come here frequently even though Percy himself prefers the company of Ministry drinkers at the Witch and Spyglass, or the more tasteful atmosphere of the Enchanted Kneazle. Far less likely to encounter unwelcome relatives there. But for today, the Leaky Cauldron is perfect - a place where no one asks questions.

"No," he replies a little belatedly, trying to ignore the sudden curious glint in the barman's eye. "No table tonight. The Ministry should have owl-reserved two rooms for tonight on the upper floor?"

Tom gives a hacking cough and reaches for the food-stained guestbook. "Let me have a look..."

He flips through the pages, and Percy thinks of the chatty owls Penny sends him weekly from New Zealand. He is happy that she got the opportunity to organise the presentation of British artefacts at the Wellington Museum of Magic, and would have gladly encouraged her to accept the post had she been wavering. He honestly doesn't mind her going abroad for a year, but he'd have liked a chance to be supportive. They'd had dinner at the Enchanted Kneazle to celebrate, during which Percy hadn't managed to work up the nerve to ask if she might want to get engaged before she left. He'd put the ring he'd bought for her into the drawer of his nightstand, where it still lies.

Yes, perhaps he's been working too much - taking over for Mr Crouch, being promoted to Minister Fudge's aide, struggling to be kept on in the new administration under Rufus Scrimgeour. At times, they hadn't seen each other for two weeks or more.

Percy's eyes follow Tom's ambling gait over to the keys board, and he realises he's hardly had time to miss Penny yet. But he wants to marry her - things will be different when she returns, he promises himself as the barman summons two of the keys, and sends them fluttering over to Percy with a wave of his wand. Percy catches them by the necks, careful not to damage their fragile wings.

"Just holler for the pub-elf if you want dinner or drinks sent up," the barman says, leering in a way that has Percy shooting him a stern look as he makes for the staircase. Something turns around in the roomy pocket of his robe, and comes to rest in a warm patch against the outside of his thigh.

There are three rooms on the topmost floor of the Cauldron, and if Potter has received Percy's owl - and for once has done as instructed - he'll have booked the third for himself tonight. Percy considers going to check immediately, but then decides to brush the dust of Azkaban off his robes first.

He unlocks the door to one of his rooms, puts his briefcase down on the rickety table and takes out a miniaturised Foeglass. Once it has begun to putter away harmlessly on the tabletop, he walks over to the sink and throws a few handfuls of cold water into his face. He runs the comb through his hair, polishes his horn-rimmed glasses and casts a quick spell to rid his robes of dust and grime. It provokes a displeased squirming motion from his pocket.

Cleaned up as much as time will permit, Percy takes the briefcase up again and carefully locks and wards his door behind him, then goes to deposit his second Foeglass in the other room. The Auror Department tried to kick up a fuss over him walking out with their prized equipment, but - as for quite a few things over the past two weeks - acting under the Minister's personal authorisation has proven invaluable.

That done, he sighs, straightens his robes one last time, and goes to knock on the third door of the little corridor.

"Who is it?" The voice comes so quickly that Percy can't help but suspect that the room's inhabitant has been listening for Percy's steps in the corridor with his ear pressed to the door. For the first time, it occurs to him that Potter may be as nervous as he is.

"Percy Weasley," he announces.

A key is turned twice in the keyhole, then Potter calls, "Come in."

Percy pulls on the door handle and slips inside. Potter is standing next to the table, clad in wizarding fashion in a long-flowing cloak with a hood that is designed to be inconspicuous, but may do the job a tad too well in times when Death Eaters are prowling the streets. After scrutinising Percy for a moment, he brushes back the hood to reveal a familiar mess of hair.

Percy locks the door and traces the rune for a standard-issue ward on the wood just to be on the safe side. Then he nods at the boy.

"Potter." And after an awkward pause, "Happy birthday." They're certainly not friends, but the boy's just come of age, and that deserves an acknowledgement at least. It's a matter of manners. A nudge against his hip makes him blush.

"Thanks." Potter rolls his eyes ever so slightly, cutting right to the chase. "So - where's the meeting? Or are you taking me to Azkaban?"

Percy shakes his head. Though that would have been his preferred option as well, Lucius Malfoy would never enter negotiations from such a position of weakness. Pity.

Potter's right eyebrow wanders up, and Percy can't suppress a smirk at the look of confusion on his face. He slips a hand into his pocket, aware of how Potter's wand comes up to aim at him, and not very subtly either. Rummaging through the pocket, he hopes that his... guest will be, if nothing else, at least too mature to bite. He finds the long, sinuous body and lifts it out. The furry tail brushes his knuckles, then drapes loosely around his wrist.

The ferret squints at the sudden brightness after the crisp dark of Percy's pocket, its nose and mouth almost bluishly translucent. It looks haughty and aggravated in equal measure.

"That's him?" Potter blurts out, eyes round as the ferret bristles ever so slightly on Percy's palm. Percy nods, trying not to succumb to a smile as the corners of Potter's mouth curl up in the first honest grin Percy has seen on him in years.

"It was a safe way to bring him from Azkaban without creating undue suspicion in the prisoners or starting rumours among the guards." Malfoy had been distinctly unamused, but at least was pragmatist enough to swallow his objections.

Percy sets the ferret down on the floor, where it crouches very stiffly. He has repeated the reversal incantation again and again in his living room together with the original transfiguration spell, regretting the lack of target to practice on. Jaw set, he intonates the counter-charm on the ferret, waving his wand in just the perfect arc, and Lucius Malfoy rises from the floor in a shudder of limbs, robes and bright hair. He looks ruffled, but in one piece.

Percy's eyes flicker over to Potter even as he tries to aim his own wand in Malfoy's direction while looking as inconspicuous as possible.

The Boy Who Lived gives the Death Eater the tiniest hint of a nod. "Malfoy."

Malfoy's lip twists. "I would say it's good to see you again, Potter, if 'good' wouldn't imply 'you dead at my feet and the whole situation very different'." He shrugs. "But there's no cure for it. I'll have to thank you for liberating me from Azkaban, then?"

"I did no such thing," Potter replies scathingly. "You're just here to answer my questions."

"Come, Mr Potter, if you weren't interested in my information, Percy here would never have gone to all this trouble. You must have been... properly convincing."

Percy, who is coming to realise that he minds Malfoy using his first name in company a lot more than he minds in private, is not surprised to hear Potter snap, "Prove it, then. How come you know about the missing Horcrux? Surely Voldemort-" he all but spits the name onto the carpet - "hasn't been telling you about it."

"Really, Potter, your naivete can be staggering." Malfoy shakes his head, almost bemusedly. "The two most effective lines the Dark Lord has been luring followers in with are 'dominion over the wizarding world', and 'immortality'. Death Eaters, Potter - using the death of a victim to make oneself a little more immune to the dark reaper. It's not as unheard-of a concept as Albus Dumbledore preferred to believe."

Potter's mouth trembles slightly at the mention of the name, but his voice remains steady. "And what of that phial of Ravenclaw's?"

This time, a thin smile materialises on Malfoy's lips outright. "That was my mistake," he admits. "When I found out about its existence, I filed it away as some little detail to ensure my safety. It never occurred to me that the Dark Lord would have created more than one - especially not in the form of a diary already steeped in Dark Magic."

"Yeah, you pissed him off with the diary all right." Potter gives Malfoy's humourless smile right back. "Where is this phial, then?"

"At the chapel of Thirladean Hall, in the Scottish Borders," Malfoy replies without missing a beat.

"And this is where Slytherin is buried?" Percy throws in, only to have both pairs of eyes land on him as if they'd forgotten his presence altogether.

Then Malfoy nods. "Yes."

"I've combed through the Ministry archives for Slytherin's tomb. There was not a single reference to that place."

"Well, you'd have to know where to look." Malfoy smirks and takes a sudden step forward, pulling one of the chairs towards him and settling down on it gracefully. Percy jumps, but Potter just shifts his wand to aim right at the Death Eater's chest and leans his hip against the table.

"Dazzle me, then."

Something sparkles in Malfoy's eye. "You know, of course, that after building the Chamber of Secrets, Slytherin left Hogwarts in disagreement with the other Founders over the admission of Mudbloods?"

"Muggle-borns," Potter corrects coldly. Malfoy ignores him.

"At any rate, he left his House in the hands of his most gifted disciple, and travelled Britain and Europe on his quest for immortality." Potter startles at this, and Malfoy's eyebrows rise. "Yes - like many discerning wizards after him, he was concerned with the diluting effects of Muggle blood on wizarding powers and life spans, and sought to augment those life spans by magic. He undertook most of his research at Castle MacKinnock in Scotland, under the patronage of that influential magical family." He cocks his head in Percy's direction. "Am I on safe ground so far?"

Though he resents being used like this, Percy shrugs. "All of it is quite common knowledge." He's read through every available biography of the mad Founder over the past two weeks, and spent most of his slender savings on a 19th century facsimile copy of _Lays of the Founders_ , a rare collection of anecdotes and legends. Malfoy nods patronisingly, as if he's been expecting no less.

"Although he laid much of the theoretical groundwork that would enable Flamel to create the Philosopher's Stone three hundred years later, Salazar had not been a young man when he left Hogwarts, and his experiments drained him further. He fell mortally ill during his travels through the Scottish Borders. When the story that Slytherin lay dying reached Hogwarts, his successor remembered his loyalties. He stole Rowena Ravenclaw's Phial and fled into the Forbidden Forest, there slaying a unicorn in the hope that its blood would stabilise his Master's condition until a cure could be found."

"Why?" Potter interrupts, eyes blank and uncomprehending. "I mean, why would he steal it from Ravenclaw?"

Malfoy sighs audibly, and even Percy drums his mental fingers against an imaginary tabletop. Honestly, isn't the boy supposed to have turned into a potions prodigy over the last months?

"As a glimpse into _Hogwarts, a History_ would show you, Ravenclaw was the most famous potions maker of her time," Malfoy explains impatiently. "And a Crystallomancer." Potter's frown deepens. "A witch with the ability to magically shape crystals, imbuing them with certain magical properties. In the context of potions, to preserve perishable or volatile fluids. Most of the rarer essences Severus or old Horace keep in their private stores are preserved in crystallomancised containers. During her work at Hogwarts, Ravenclaw crafted the prototype of what we use today. That Phial." He shakes his head and tsks. "How little interest you take in the history of the place that has sheltered you for years..."

Potter grimaces as if the dig had found its way home. "Just go on," he snaps.

"As you wish, Mr Potter." Malfoy shrugs gracefully. "Slytherin's disciple used the Phial to preserve the unicorn's blood - a particularly perishable substance - until he reached Scotland. He found his master on his deathbed, but Salazar refused the cursed existence the cure offered. In outrage, he threw the blood into his pupil's face, and died. He was buried along with the Phial in the chapel of the wizarding family which had taken him in. And buried in secret, as he still had many enemies who might have desecrated his resting place or used his body for unsavoury purposes."

Potter winces at the thought, and Percy throws in, "There is no word in _Lays of the Founders_ as to where he died - how can you claim to know?"

"Yes, that's the, ah, crux of the matter, isn't it?" Malfoy looks up to catch Potter's eye and smirks again. "Listen carefully, Potter - perhaps you'll figure it out and dazzle me for a change?"

Potter glares, but Malfoy continues, unperturbed. "Slytherin's disciple returned to Hogwarts, broken by his master's death, to tell the surviving Founders of Salazar's final choice and fate." He pauses, and smiles thinly. "Then he killed himself to atone for his crime and to preserve the secret of Slytherin's grave until an Heir would come to take up his name."

Percy, who has felt a niggling at the back of his mind ever since Malfoy mentioned the unicorn, hears Potter's sudden gasp. The boy's head snaps up. "The Bloody Baron," he whispers, and immediately the connection falls into place in Percy's head as well.

"That's why he's covered in silver blood," Percy realises. "Unicorn blood is silver."

"Very impressive." Malfoy gives them a small mock bow. "The Baron told young Tom Riddle about the fate of his ancestor, and where to find his grave and the Phial of Ravenclaw. Since there are still traces of the unicorn blood the ghost has been cursed with on the Phial, he is able to sense a change of magical signatures in its location. He knows there's been another curse laid on the artefact, and that it still remains in its place. And that magical traps have most likely been placed around the location. All of which clearly point to the fact that the Phial has indeed been turned into a Horcrux."

Percy muses over it, then bites his lip and shakes his head. "If the Baron only told Tom Riddle, and Professor Dumbledore himself never even suspected Rowena Ravenclaw's artefact although he controlled Hogwarts for decades, how could you know about it? You Know Who is Slytherin's heir. But you aren't."

Malfoy nods again, with that superior attitude of his. "No, I'm not. But the Baron's last living descendant, Selene Umbraville, married Abraxas Malfoy - my father. I am his descendant. And Dumbledore, for all his power, was always quintessentially a Gryffindor whose distaste for Slytherin House was obvious no matter how much lip service he paid to unity. Not the kind of person a disciple of Slytherin's, alive or dead, would come to. It all fits."

"Yes. It all fits." Potter's face is closed off altogether, his shoulders pulled up slightly. "Almost too well. The problem is, Malfoy, I don't trust you. You'd tell me exactly the same story if you wanted to lure me into a trap for Voldemort to make up for your blunders. Same stakes, even."

Malfoy's mouth curves down. "And how do you propose we overcome that little problem, Mr Potter?" Potter's eyes remain icy, and Percy feels a chill running down his spine.

"You take an Unbreakable Vow for me, Malfoy."

The little fool! So in need of a mentor figure that he'll give his trust to a monster like Malfoy instead of turning to the Minister!

And try as he may, Percy does not manage to place the glint in Malfoy's eye - whether Potter did exactly as Malfoy expected or caught him utterly unawares. It has certainly surprised him. Although the boy has seen the results of an Unbreakable Vow in action not very long ago, of course.

"Because I think you value your life above anything - your wife, or Draco, and certainly over Voldemort," Potter explains. "If you betray me, you die. It's the only way I could ever trust you."

"And you're so very certain you've got my measure? Certain enough to stake your life on it? What a brave little boy." This time, there is rage in that calm voice and Percy aims his wand steady.

"Well, will you swear or not?" Potter challenges. "I'm sure Percy can turn you right back into a ferret if that's what you want."

Malfoy's head whips around in his direction so suddenly that Percy flinches. "Yes, Percy, what do you think of Potter's ingenious little scheme?"

Although Percy's first reaction was anger that the boy would turn his back on the Ministry and go to a convicted Death Eater for help instead, there's no denying that Potter's plan is a stroke of sheer brilliance.

Percy clears his throat. "The Ministry prefers that an Unbreakable Vow not be taken without authorisation and supervision from the Sub-Committee for Potentially Precarious Spellwork," he hedges, meeting Potter's look of exasperated aggravation straight on. It is policy, after all.

"Oh, that's all right, then," the boy drawls. "You can authorise and supervise it as our Bonder." He favours Malfoy with a poison-dipped glare. "Unless you'd rather be back in your cell, Mr Malfoy?"

The expression on Malfoy's face makes Percy shudder as the man slowly rises from his chair and approaches Potter until they are face to face, unmindful of the wand that is now digging into the patch of robe directly over his heart.

"Oh, no, Mr Potter, never fear - I will take your Vow."

"Good," Potter comments, and then, without taking eyes off the man for a moment, "Percy?"

Percy swallows. He knows how to Bond, of course. Well, in theory. The Fidelity Vow that new employees take upon entering the Ministry of Magic is nothing but a mild compulsion in comparison, instilling a vague impulse not to make off with office parchment and quills, or owl in sick when one doesn't want to get out of bed in the morning.

"You know what to do, Ha-Potter?" he asks. He'd feel much better if he'd had time to practise this a few times beforehand like the Transfiguration, just to be on the safe side. Though the duty of a Bonder is mainly to act as a witness, not as a participant.

The boy nods. "Hermione owled me all about it - I told her I wanted to find out more about Snape's motives."

Malfoy's mouth twists contemptuously, as if old magic like this should not be mentioned in the same sentence as the name of a Muggleborn.

"Link hands, please." Percy's mouth is horribly dry. Of course he's aware of how the ritual is usually conducted, but he values his life too much to suggest that Lucius Malfoy kneel to Harry Potter. It's just a formality anyway.

They do, Potter with a greater show of reluctance. He's pulled the long sleeve of his robe back, and Percy can see the fine hairs on his arm standing on end. In contrast to Malfoy's pale skin, he looks almost tanned.

"You'll have to put down your wand," Percy says after clearing his throat. "The Vow cannot be taken under any kind of threat or influence."

Potter nods and an instant later his wand clatters onto the tabletop. Malfoy smiles down at him with a horribly predatory leer, and although a spot of colour blooms in Potter's cheeks - it must feel supremely awkward to hold the hand of a mortal enemy, Percy suspects - Potter's expression of single-minded determination reminds Percy of Ron at Wizard Chess just before he starts beating anyone who dares to challenge him.

Percy lifts his wand and lightly settles it upon their joined hands. 'Begin', his lips shape, although the nonverbal spell requires no sound. There is no visible effect, but his wand seems to almost... throb between his fingers, as if it were echoing their mingled pulses. He waits in silence until Potter's eyes flicker to him, then nods and receives the tiniest of acknowledgements in return. Then Potter looks straight at Malfoy.

"Will you, Lucius Malfoy, do everything in your power to help and protect me when we go to get the Ravenclaw Horcrux?"

"I will."

Percy's wand gives an excited buzz, and a cord of fire spills from the tip and snakes around their wrists like a bracelet of liquid scarlet. Potter stares down at where it glows against his wrist, as if he can't believe he's not being burned. Sharp teeth dig into his bottom lip for an instant before he regains his composure.

"Will you, Lucius Malfoy, do nothing to betray me to my enemies - either Lord Voldemort, or any of his Death Eaters, or anyone else who would want to harm me?"

Again, Malfoy inclines his head. "I will."

A second fiery line crosses the first, and Percy feels the magic of the Vow thrum through his wand and settle like a weight in his chest.

Potter sucks in a deep breath before opening his mouth again. "Will you, Lucius Malfoy, fight on my side - at my side - to the very best of your abilities until Voldemort is defeated for good?"

Malfoy's head snaps up. He does not pull his hand away, but his eyes burn into Potter's. Percy's wand creaks under the onslaught of a magic that wants to settle, but isn't given the go-ahead, as if it were about to shatter under the pressure. Percy has to hold on to it with both hands to prevent it from jerking out of his grip. Damn you, Potter! he curses inwardly.

"That was not part of the agreement I've negotiated with the Ministry, Potter!" Malfoy growls, low and dangerous.

The boy doesn't back away, which fills Percy with an unwarranted surge of admiration.

"I know," he points out coolly. "But here, you're not dealing with the Ministry - you're dealing with me." It almost takes Percy's breath away, that arrogance.

Malfoy just looks at Potter, at his white, implacable face, at the two fiery bonds creeping unruly around their wrists.

"Oh, Harry, not only do you look like young Tom Riddle," he finally hisses, more venomous than Percy has ever heard him speak. "You're also his brother in spirit!"

"You're not required to agree to this," Percy hears himself say, because it's the truth and the proper thing to point out, but he could just as well not exist for all the attention they pay him.

"If you display the same degree of cunning at tomorrow's search, we just might make it out alive," Malfoy adds softly. Then, he lowers himself onto one knee, never letting go of Potter's hand or taking his gaze off the wild green eyes. His voice lowers into a whisper.

"I will fight for you - to the best of my abilities - until Lord Voldemort has been defeated for good."

Even as the third band of fire twirls round their hands - released at last - Malfoy's free hand comes up to brush Potter's cheekbone. "Until you've won, Harry. After that, there will be a reckoning."

The threat nearly stops Percy's breath, but the cords of flame solidify and curl around each other to form one intricate bracelet of approval. Potter lets out a sound that is almost a giggle, and in this split second, Percy realises that the boy truly does not expect to live to see the day of victory.

Then Potter slumps to his knees with a painful crack, clinging on to Malfoy's hand under the flames until his knuckles shine white.

"And I, Harry Potter, swear to do everything in my power to help your wife and your son." He pauses, then adds, "If I can, and still defeat Voldemort."

It does not create another tendril of fire from Percy's wand, but the magic still presses down on him harshly, and a golden glimmer colours the outside of the scarlet cords binding their wrists.

Malfoy scrutinises the boy for a long moment, then nods slowly. "And will you, Harry, defend my freedom before the Ministry if we succeed in retrieving the Horcrux?"

"I will," Potter promises with a shaky laugh. "You'd be of no bloody use to me at all against Voldemort in Azkaban." Another streak of gold shoots through the flame cords, twisting and swirling until the braided fire glows very brightly for an instant, and then fades around their wrists.

Almost as an afterthought, Percy touches his wand to their linked hands again and mouths, 'So be it.' The oppressive weight on his chest lifts off just like the fireshine did, and then there is just the darkening room and no sign left of the magic wrought.

Both Potter and Malfoy climb to their feet with the air of men caught making a very humiliating spectacle, and Malfoy swipes back a stand of hair that has fallen into his face before purposefully turning to Percy.

"I assume that you have taken steps to ensure the protection of my wife?"

"Yes," Percy replies, happy to be back on familiar ground. "A pair of Aurors fetched her from your Wiltshire mansion this morning, officially to interview her again about your son's whereabouts." He bites his lip. "As soon as your... cooperation is assured, she will be taken to a Ministry safehouse and placed under Fidelius protection." The cold glint in Malfoy's eye shows him that the man got his 'cooperate and we'll protect her' message just fine. "One of our best Aurors has been assigned to the task," he rushes on quickly. "Kingsley Shacklebolt - an expert for personal security."

If Percy wasn't sure that it's impossible, he would think he saw a flash of humour crossing Malfoy's tense face, or heard a soft snicker from Potter where he's back to leaning against the table. The magic must have caused him to hallucinate...

"We have no information on the whereabouts of Draco Malfoy, however," he admits. "Magical Law Enforcement has been dispatched to search for him, and he will be included in the protection scheme if he can be apprehended, but he seems to have vanished."

Malfoy does not look particularly apprehensive at the thought. "I imagine he is quite safe where he is now," he says. "Severus has taken an Unbreakable Vow for him before - I'm sure he will protect him still."

"Until I find him." Potter's voice cuts into the conversation, and Percy can't help but think that the face of a seventeen-year-old should not be able to show such hatred.

With a very cold look, and a purposefully brusque gesture, Malfoy turns to Percy. "If that is all, I'd like to retire for the night." At Potter's surprised frown, he adds, "I presume that Percy has reserved a room for me?" Percy nods, and Malfoy rises up to his full height, rolling his shoulders ever so slightly. "If I'm to be risking my life tomorrow in the cause of famous Harry Potter, I fully intend to spend the rest of this wretched night in a hot bath and a comfortable bed. After all, we could wind up dead tomorrow." His face pulls into a grimace. "Moreover, I'll have to purchase a wand before we head to Scotland, and I'd prefer to do so during opening hours."

"They didn't give his back in Azkaban?" Potter inquires from Percy with a touch of impatience.

As Malfoy's expression turns even stormier, Percy shakes his head. "It is policy to burn the wand of every prisoner committed to Azkaban indefinitely - a crime against the magical community revokes a wizard's right to carry a wand at all times."

"Tomorrow, then," Malfoy snarls at Potter, but pauses on his way to the door and holds out his hand for the key. Percy pulls it out of his pocket, its minuscule wings fluttering against his palm, and as he hands it over, Malfoy steps up so close that Percy can smell the slight hint of sea salt that pervades everything on Azkaban island.

Malfoy lowers his head and whispers into Percy's ear, "Come and speak to me when you're done with him." Without waiting for a reply, he snatches the key from Percy's fingers and stalks out.

***

Silence reigns for a long moment after Malfoy has left the room. At last, Potter turns to peer out of the single grimy window, his back to Percy.

"Well? Aren't you going to tell me I violated protocol or something?"

"I think you came up with an inspired solution," Percy admits truthfully after collecting his thoughts. "I'm beginning to understand why the Hat considered you for Slytherin."

"But you didn't like it," Potter states. "Don't try to deny it. I saw your face."

"I think you should not have made him a vow in return. It's... dangerous to bind yourself to someone like Malfoy," Percy says.

"But it worked, right? I didn't turn it invalid or something?"

"No, it Bonded you all right," Percy assures him. "It almost looked like some ancient fealty rite. Still, I think he's... a very dangerous man," he repeats helplessly. It's only part of the truth, of course. He has felt the trap closing around Malfoy, and it reminded him too much of the day he left the Burrow for good. A forced path with no escape. And Malfoy comparing Potter to You Know Who...

"I had to," Potter confesses. "I couldn't let him risk his life for me for nothing. But no, I don't trust him either, no matter what."

"Can we afford not to believe him?" Percy asks.

Potter turns, takes a deep breath, and shakes his head. "No."

"Perhaps you should go and get some sleep," Percy advises gently. "It looks as if tomorrow will be draining."

Potter fiddles with a corner of the bedcovers, wadding it aimlessly between his fingers. "You know you don't have to come."

"Don't be a fool, Harry," Percy admonishes, trying to lighten his tone. "The Minister would have my head if I let a notorious Death Eater run off unsupervised before he has properly earned his parole." He picks his briefcase up from the table and repeats, "Go and get some sleep."

***

Back in his room, Percy finds himself staring blankly into the fireplace. The afternoon drizzle has left the air chilly and wet. A fire would be nice, and the elves have left wood in the grate, but Percy glares at the logs and can't work up the energy to actually light them. He should probably eat something, but his throat tightens at the thought, and he's too restless to go to bed.

He does not really want to talk to Malfoy behind Potter's back. Harry already has betrayal issues. To be honest, he does not want to talk to Malfoy alone full stop. If it's really important, surely Malfoy will come to him...

After half an hour of restless pacing, he steps back out into the corridor. He'll just check if everything is quiet - maybe then he'll feel calm enough to go to sleep. The corridor is dark, no light shining out from any of the doors because of the wards. Percy tiptoes to listen at Potter's door, careful not to let his ear come into contact with the wood. It is dead silent inside, and suddenly he feels stupid, trying to eavesdrop as if he were still a little child at the Burrow.

And yet he pauses before Malfoy's door on the way back to his room, lingering and cursing himself and trying to breathe noiselessly. He is not going to knock!

He turns to his own room, and freezes as Malfoy's door swings open out of the blue. Light from the inside spills over Percy's side and hip and finally over his shock-pale face.

Lucius Malfoy leans against the wooden door jamb, his face inscrutable as if he knew that the slightest hint of a smirk would send Percy streaking off like a wet Kneazle. Malfoy has lit his fire, and the flames crackle happily in the grate, warmth radiating out into the corridor to caress Percy's face. The fireshine throws a rosy shimmer on Malfoy's skin. He's wrapped in the Cauldron's standard issue white bathrobe, wet hair combed out and hanging over his shoulder. A few drops of water are still dotting his collarbone, and Percy looks away quickly.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," Percy mumbles, his face aflame.

Malfoy is not quite as sleek as he has been before his incarceration, but where Azkaban can dull a normal prisoner's edge even with the Dementors gone, it has only served to hone Malfoy's. The sharp angles of his cheekbones testify to it.

"Come to bed, Percy?"

Percy's mouth opens in shock. He's as good as engaged to Penny, and he's hardly ever been attracted to men. Back in school, he'd traded a few kisses with Chaser Adrian Pucey, but it never went beyond that. Pucey was a Slytherin, and Percy had always suspected him wanting the Head Boy, rather than him. And Malfoy has already made his Vow to Potter - what can he possibly expect to gain from bedding Percy now? They aren't even friends.

He can only shake his head in helpless protest.

Malfoy's gaze keeps holding him until the tension becomes too much - like the pressure from the Vow not long ago. Percy shivers and takes a step back, eyes searching for the refuge of his own door. He takes another step into the corridor when Malfoy's hand closes around his wrist, stopping him in mid-move with his head averted. A large, long-fingered hand, holding him with all the fleetingness of a ghost's touch. He could slip out of the grip with no effort at all. But the very lightness of the hold makes it impossible to escape. Malfoy can't possibly mean it... he should want Potter if anyone, after the Vow bound them together so spectacularly, not a nobody like Percy...

"We could all be dead tomorrow," Malfoy repeats, and Percy sucks in a breath that hitches in his throat like the sob of a very small bird. He lets himself be drawn inside, into the circle of Malfoy's arms, and the door closes softly behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

From the Apparition point halfway up a small hill, Thirladean Hall looks quite unspectacular. It sits at the foot of the hill, about a quarter of a mile from a miserable brook that does not seem to be up to carrying more than a rivulet of water even in this particularly wet August. Yet another hill rises behind the house, crowned by the fallen, overgrown ruins of a Norman tower of which only the squat foundations are still visible.

Like most remote wizarding locations, its surroundings have been made Unplottable and threaded through with Muggle-Repellent Charms. Even the black-faced sheep that graze their way over the surrounding hills keep a careful distance. No one, Percy realises, will therefore take notice of the three robed and cloaked figures who descend towards the house in the late-morning drizzle.

The mansion itself flaunts its relation to the watchtower on the hill. It is narrow, constructed from heavy stone blocks, and dominated by its own squat tower.

"Who lives there now?" Potter whispers as they make their way down through slippery grass.

"No one, I assume." Malfoy's hooded head does not turn as he adds, "It was long disused even when I looked into its history fifteen years ago. The wizarding family who took in Salazar died out in the fourteenth century. Afterwards, it belonged to several local wizards, but no one settled there for long. It's remote and unfashionable and rumoured to be unlucky. I doubt there will even be a house-elf to look after the place - a few portraits or an animated statue at most."

Percy slips on a muddy patch of ground, and Malfoy's hand flies out to snatch his wrist and steady him - again without sparing him a look. Percy's wrist burns even after the fleeting grip has vanished.

"But we don't need to consider the house - just the chapel."

As they approach, the building appears as a smaller dark shadow behind the house proper, half-cloaked behind a smattering of trees.

Potter runs spread fingers through his sodden hair. Percy suspects that seeing Lucius Malfoy in his new cowled cloak has caused him to leave his own hood down despite the rain just to make a point. Percy, who hasn't looked at Malfoy directly since waking with his face pressed against the man's shoulder at dawn, cannot really fault the boy for his obstinacy.

It has to be almost eleven, but still the surrounding hills with their yellow-patched grass - not the most hospitable of landscapes at the best of times - look dismal underneath the grey sky, and the rain doesn't look as if it's going to let up any time soon.

Earlier, they'd trailed after Malfoy into the maze of tiny cobblestone streets between Diagon and Knockturn Alley to buy a wand in a dingy little shop called 'Wands Without Questions'. A poor substitute for Ollivander's, as Potter had pointed out poisonously. The wand turned out to be mahogany (which hadn't surprised Percy at all), with a unicorn hair core, which certainly had. After a further trip to a robe shop, where Malfoy exchanged his threadbare Azkaban uniform for a plain black robe and a granite-coloured travelling cloak, they were ready. Which was a good thing, because Potter had trailed behind radiating all the pent-up urgency of a Crup in need of a tree. Percy had rebuffed Malfoy's sardonic promise of reimbursement as soon as he'd regained access to his assets with a flush and a mumbled reference to Ministry expenses. In truth, he would be lucky if he could even shake Magical Finance down for the wand.

He'd blushed even more when they had to hold on to Malfoy's hands to Apparate, Malfoy being the only one who'd ever seen the place they were travelling to. Guide-Along Apparition wasn't Percy's favourite means of transportation, but at least it meant Apparating under his own power. Still, he'd squirmed when Malfoy brushed the back of his hand with his thumb just before they spirited away. Potter had been bone-white and weak-kneed when they'd arrived, and Percy realised with a jolt that, considering one could only obtain an Apparition Licence at seventeen, he'd probably taken the test the previous morning before coming down to the Leaky Cauldron. And yet the little fool had said nothing at all!

"You've mentioned magical traps?" Potter ventures as they trek towards the chapel, squinting at the small building that might hold his heart's desire.

"I would not expect anything less from the Dark Lord," Malfoy replies. "And since it's Slytherin's grave, I'd expect something you might be able to help with, Potter. After all, you're sharing in the powers of his heir."

Potter's face darkens. "Let's just hope it's not another Basilisk," he mutters.

Malfoy smirks as he comes to a halt a few paces before the black door of the chapel. "I know that the Dark Lord had some of his most trusted followers working on a series of innovative traps when he was first rising to power. Although back then we did not know to what specific end."

The boy spins round to him. "You?"

"No." Malfoy's smirk deepens, and acquires a touch of almost wistful reminiscence. "My Lord trusted me with more... political tasks. I know, however, that Severus developed a rather... insidious potion on our Lord's behalf."

"Snape made that?" Potter blurts out, a twist of pain contorting his face.

"You've already encountered it?" Malfoy inquires, all silky concern, and Potter's face hardens.

"Let's go!"

The chapel is quite small, built from what looks like heavy grey slate, aged almost to blackness. A few stones have caved in on the narrow bell-tower. The door has been carved from black wood, with tarnished copper traces of a wand-and-garland design. Probably the original builders' hereditary crest - recognisable to wizards, but inconspicuous enough not to raise the suspicion of passing Muggles in a time before the invention of Unplottability Charms.

Malfoy draws his new wand to probe the door for wards, but there is no telltale glow. It is locked, however.

"If You Know Who has hidden part of his soul here," Percy speaks up, carefully studying the black wood to avoid looking at Malfoy, "wouldn't he have set trap wards to alert him if someone tried to break in?" The last thing they need is for He Who Must Not Be Named to descend on them while they're busy trying to destroy his tools for immortality. Percy shudders at the thought.

"It's not impossible," Malfoy admits. "Although such spells are long-range, and bound to leave traces, especially if the caster is a wizard of such immense power. The kind of traces that Aurors are particularly eager to detect in their search for Death Eater hideouts. Still, if we should succeed here, it would be unwise to linger."

Quite unexpectedly, Potter throws in, "He did not show up when... when we went after the other one. And I don't think Professor Dumbledore ran into him when he destroyed the ring."

Malfoy eyes him with an inquisitive expression, but asks no question. So Potter was indeed telling the truth when he told Percy that some of the Horcruxes were destroyed already... Somehow, it makes this whole thing seem a little less impossible.

"Only one way to find out." Malfoy shrugs and resolutely points his wand at the door. "Alohomora!"

The lock shatters with the groan of long-disused, rusty metal, and one of the heavy oaken doors wails open to reveal a gap of musty blackness.

Licking his lips nervously, Percy pushes it open a bit further with one hand, wand gripped hard in the other. It's almost completely dark inside. The two stained-glass windows high up on the walls are too grimy to let any light in. Percy hears his own Lumos echoed by Potter and Malfoy as he steps inside.

The pews have rotted into mouldy heaps on both sides of the aisle, and the gaps that litter the wooden spiral staircase up to the bell-tower remind Percy of the broken teeth of an ancient dragon. The altar is solid stone, a bulky mass at the far end of the chapel. The heavy stone chalice on top is covered with a thick layer of dust. The stained-glass window behind it shows a rather unconvincing St George, staff in hand. The head of a red dragon peering out from behind his legs betrays its origin as one of the traditional depictions of Merlin.

Percy knows little about the rites of early British wizardry. The magical community and Christianity had only fully parted ways after the widespread demonisation of magic in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, but Percy still recognises some of its imagery. Unfortunately, Professor Binns was always far more interested in goblin uprisings and troll rackets.

Walking further down the aisle, ears pricked for any sound out of the ordinary, Percy watches Malfoy crouch down over one of the marble slabs fused into the dirty stone floor at both sides of the altar. He is brushing dirt aside with reluctant fingers and a disgusted expression.

"Is that it?" Potter bounces over eagerly as Malfoy pauses over one of the slabs, but the man shakes his head.

"That would be far too simple." He sneers into the boy's face. "This merely seems to be his memorial stone - at least I think it is. The actual grave will be down in the crypt."

Percy crouches down next to Potter, who cranes his neck to see better. The marble slab is about the size of a coffin lid. The rough outlines of a male form and face are engraved onto the surface. There is no name, nor any kind of inscription, and the sketch of a robe could point to a monk or knight as well as to a wizard. The only clue that this might be what they're looking for lies in the line carved around the figure's middle: a knotted rope, revealed on closer inspection - and under the light of a full Lumos - as a snake swallowing its own tail.

Potter issues a hiss that makes all the hairs rise on Percy's arms and neck, but the carved snake remains cold stone. The boy looks up and shakes his head.

"Keep the location in mind," Malfoy advises. "The slabs traditionally mark where the actual dead are buried below."

The entrance to the crypt is half-hidden underneath the ruins of the bell-tower stairs - a round stone arch. But when Percy touches the stone, he can almost feel a subtle energy humming below, a kiss of warmth. He pulls his fingers away quickly when Malfoy's hand comes to rest next to his own, their skin almost brushing. Heat rushes into his face, and he busies himself peering into the darkness below. A spiral staircase leads downwards, disappearing after two steps into a vast sea of black. At least these stairs are heavy stone, looking solid in a way the upstairs chapel did not. The pale grey steps seem to have no edges at all; they are smooth and rounded in a way that is only possible with magic.

"You first," Potter orders curtly as he observes Malfoy touching the arch. "I still don't trust you, and I'm sure Percy feels the same."

"Oh, I wouldn't be quite so sure about that..." There's a silky-soft tone to Malfoy's voice, like the Kneazle who's cracking the very last bone left of the Jarvey. "After all, he spent the last night in my bed, not yours."

Percy can feel himself going pale from shock. He hasn't honestly dared to hope that his little... fling would remain secret forever, but to hear Malfoy giving it out as casually as that, just to hurt him...

"Don't be disgusting!" Potter starts, then his eyes go wide, mouth trembling. His stare almost burns the skin off Percy's face, as if he's waiting for him to laugh, or to deny what Percy has no intention of denying or apologising for. This is none of Potter's business! Percy may be the wizarding world's most pathetic fool, but he's not obliged to answer to the 'Chosen One'. He hasn't bound himself by any oaths!

The querying eyes go dull, then cold. Of course Percy knows from Advanced Muggle Studies that Muggles can have strange notions about what constitutes morality, notions which might have filtered down to Potter. But certainly the boy will have as much contempt for Muggle conventions as he's shown for wizarding custom. No, he's bound to regard Percy sharing Malfoy's bed as a violation of trust - which, of course, is exactly why Malfoy has brought it up. And while somewhere deep down Percy can understand why Malfoy would want to hurt the boy, he very much objects to being so used.

Although, an evil little voice pipes up in his head, he had the chance not to be used the night before, and turned it down. Had even quite enjoyed being used...

"I don't think that is of any importance here," Percy finally snarls in Malfoy's direction, although he gives Potter's gaze back as cold as he gets.

"And none of my business, of course," Potter points out curtly, although the stony look of accusation in his eyes does not waver.

Percy turns his back to him - to them both - quite purposefully, and strengthens the Lumos on his wand tip before stepping onto the first downwards stair. He can hear Malfoy's chuckle, even thinks he can feel the puff of warm breath on the back of his neck as the Death Eater falls into step behind him.

The staircase coils itself downward in a half-bow around a broad stone pillar, a chasm opening up on the other side. Percy finds himself measuring his steps carefully, and leaning increasingly towards the safety of the pillar. Once or twice, he jerks nervously when a ghostly fizz of bluish flame crackles along the stone only to vanish again immediately, almost too faint and too fast to be real. It might just be a reflection of their lit wands, and yet he recoils a little from the pillar.

"There's something there." Potter's voice comes in a whisper from above, and Percy stops nervously. "I can feel it."

"Perhaps," Malfoy replies, his voice just as quiet. "But whatever it is, at the moment it doesn't seem to be hostile."

Although Percy is not at all stung to hear them discussing matters over his head, he snaps, "Whatever it is, I'd rather deal with it on the ground!" Without waiting for a reply, he resumes his way down, a little faster than before and keeping equal distance from both the chasm and the pillar, where the tiny lights keep flickering by every so often.

He reaches the bottom without realising it at first. The last step is higher than the others, and leaves him wavering. A deafening crack follows his stumble, and Percy's first panicked thought is that the crypt floor might be rotted wood and about to cave in underneath him.

He hears Potter shriek, "Get down!", and a brutal push throws him forward as the whole staircase seems to... draw itself up, and then crumble above them. Out of the corner of his eye, Percy sees Lucius' white braid whipping the air as he is similarly hurled forward, before all that's left to fill his vision are rocks hurtling down on him. Something hits the side of his free hand like a blow from a hammer, and black, sickening agony tears a scream from his throat.

" _Protego!_ " he croaks, hears Malfoy scream another spell behind him, and then he lands flat on the ground. A boulder explodes on the floor right beside his head, deflected by the charm. Percy rolls himself into a ball inside his protective bubble, cheek pressed to the ground as stones rain down all around him.

It takes a few moments after the barrage has ended for his ears to process the deafening noise and to restore his hearing. A hand grabs his shoulder, and when Percy hoists himself up, the pain in his injured fingers flares up until bright spots dance in front of his vision. Through watering eyes, he sees Malfoy's face above his. The man's hair is sprinkled with dust, braid half undone, wild strands straggling around his face. He looks unharmed apart from a telltale reluctance to lean his full weight on his left leg, which he has probably sprained as Potter pushed him out of the way of the falling rocks.

"Fuck! Potter!" Percy gasps - an expression that would have raised the eyebrows of his mother and his superiors - but Malfoy has already let go of him and turns to scan the rubble.

Pushing himself up to his feet with only the most fleeting glance at his maimed fingers, Percy stumbles after him. He hears Malfoy swearing softly just before he sees the limp hand sticking out from underneath a medium-sized flagstone. The boy lies sprawled on the ground, hair white-grey under a cover of dust, facedown and motionless.

" _Wingardium Leviosa!_ " Malfoy levitates the stone off Harry's back and carefully turns him over. The boy's eyes are closed, his face very pale. A minor bruise blooms on his temple, his robes are torn in a few places, and a solitary trickle of blood coagulates at the corner of his mouth.

" _Ennervate!_ " Percy's voice sounds high and thin as he aims at the boy's chest, pouring as much power into the spell as he has left. Still, it takes a second, even more frantic repetition before a puff of air escapes the slack lips and a shudder runs through the limp body. Apart from when he saw Ginny emerge from the Chamber of Secrets alive, Percy has never felt a more sincere rush of relief.

Malfoy leans down to study Potter more closely, curses again and points his wand upward, casting a " _Lumos Perpetuos!_ " at the distant ceiling. Harsh blue-white light spreads upward in a cloud, thinning out until it hangs over the crypt like a faint sheet of glowing fog.

Percy peers round nervously. The crypt is about sixty feet in diameter, walls as smoothly polished by magic as the staircase has been - of which all that remains is a huge heap of rubble behind them. Eight grey stone sarcophagi, four to each side, line the walls, mirroring the memorial plates in the chapel above. When no immediate threat seems to be looming, he turns back to the injured boy.

Malfoy has used the time to divest Potter of his robe and shirt, and to cast a diagnostic grid over his chest. Highlighting the status of the ribs underneath, glowing yellow lines fan out from the boy's middle. Percy sucks in a nervous breath of air as he sees cracks in three of Harry's ribs, while a fourth one is practically shattered to bits. Malfoy's mouth is thin as he looks at Percy.

"Your hand," he commands. In confusion, Percy lifts his wand hand, but Malfoy shakes his head impatiently. "The other."

Feeling dull pain pulse in the requested limb, Percy protests, "But Harry-"

"Minor scrapes first," Malfoy retorts as curtly as if he was quoting from the _Handbook of Auror Procedure_. "I need you functional."

Wordlessly, Percy reaches over, only to find himself choking on a scream as the bone-knitting charm fuses the cracks in his fingerbones with all the subtlety of a vigorously applied thumbscrew. He can't help throwing his head back and biting his lip bloody, but at least he has enough presence of mind not to try and pull his hand away. Not that Malfoy's grip would allow it. The flesh-knitting charm on the heel of the first takes care of his torn skin. Although it hurts a lot less, it itches so badly that Percy wants to rip the newly-mended flesh off with his nails. Thankfully, it subsides to a mere burn after a few moments.

Malfoy lets go of Percy's wrist and looks down at Harry. The boy is still breathing shallowly; his eyelids flutter, but don't open.

"Do you want to do it?"

Much as Percy would prefer not to leave Harry's health to a former Death Eater, he shakes his head, still trembling with the aftershocks of pain. "I did pass all three of the Ministry's mandatory magical healing courses, but I've no practical experience... just on Nifflers..."

Malfoy pulls Harry's sagging form upright, unmindful of the boy's pained groan, and shoves him at Percy. "Hold him upright - make sure he doesn't move!"

" _Petrificus Pectoris!_ " Percy casts, tapping his wand to Harry's chest before wrapping his arms around the half-petrified body that slumps against him.

Malfoy reaches up to brush wild, dirt-streaked hair out of the boy's face, and smiles. "I think I'm going to enjoy this."

Percy feels Harry trembling against him as Malfoy raises his wand and draws it along his skin right over the first of the yellow lines glowing on his chest.

At the murmured sound of the bone-knitting spell, Harry's muscles knot and he presses himself back against Percy as if Percy's arms were a sanctuary. He sobs, shallow and high when the Petrificus refuses to let him gulp in deep breaths, or cry out loud. Malfoy traces his wand along the yellowed outlines of Harry's ribs, not ignoring the boy's pained noises so much as taking pleasure in them. Percy recalls that satisfied expression from being pinned down helpless in Malfoy's bed, and inwardly squirms with shame.

When it's finally over, Potter's shoulder blades are slick with cold sweat, and tear tracks stain his face. But the yellow lines on his chest reveal straight, strong lines that prove the damage to his ribs has been repaired in full. When Percy releases him from the petrifaction, Potter collapses to his knees, but his breaths come clearly.

" _Sanos!_ " Malfoy casts at him in a perfunctory tone, finally dulling the pain after he's enjoyed his fill.

Potter glares at him weakly, teeth bared in a feral expression, one hand pressed to his chest and probing his ribs. But instead of flying into a rage, as Percy has expected, he inclines his head to the former Death Eater. "Thank you." They still hold the edge of a snarl, those two words, but Malfoy nods and offers his hand to pull the boy to his feet.

Potter totters, but after two steps regains his balance. He pulls his robe back over his chest and lets his eyes wander over the room, over the tombs in their two parallel rows on either side. "This is the place, isn't it?"

"Third to the left," Percy recalls, trying not to sound as nervous as he feels. The blue fizzling lights are still flickering along the walls at irregular intervals. Percy just hopes that they don't radiate any lethal magic. But then Malfoy's diagnostic spell had not revealed any damage in Potter beyond the obvious.

The tombs are set off in niches that contain a stone or marble sarcophagus together with a statue or an engraving of the dead. As they pass, Percy's eye is caught by the representation of a witch with clear, regular features and plaited braids wound around her head like a crown. Her stern expression reminds him of a younger Professor McGonagall. Behind her, the image of Salazar Slytherin - if it indeed is Slytherin - looks strangely undefined in comparison, its features washed out as if they'd been melted into the stone rather than carved from it. Statue and tomb are both fashioned from identical grey stone.

Potter looks up into the statue's narrow, thin-bearded face - the Founder has been carved seated on a high-backed chair and slightly above human size. "It's him - it looks almost like his statue in the Chamber of Secrets." And, looking at it more closely, the two snake bracelets surrounding the stone wrists are rather indicative.

Percy eyes the sarcophagus warily. "Do you think it's in there? The Horcrux?"

"You said it was buried along with him, didn't you?" Potter half-turns towards Malfoy while his fingers brush the edge of the tomb.

Percy notices movement at the corner of his eye even as Potter speaks, and his hand flies out faster than ever before in his life. He grabs the woollen back of the boy's robe and pulls him backwards with enough force to end up with an armful of flailing Chosen One. The stone fist misses Harry's face and doesn't even graze his shoulder, but Percy can still feel the air hissing in its wake.

Malfoy grabs the boy's shoulder to drag him a few more steps out of the way, then he lets his wand whip towards the statue to cast a vicious Reductor Curse.

Percy can practically see the magic rushing out, and watches it just... evaporate as it reaches the stone head, not even raising a tremble in the intimidating figure. A faint rumble emanates from the statue as it rises from its seat and straightens up to full height. Percy stares into it's face, half-molten and acquiring an increasingly greenish tinge. At first it's only a hint of colour, but then it morphs into a slimy greenish substance that looks like something dead and too-long underwater. Malfoy, who has yet to release his grip on Potter's arm, follows the failure of his spell with an expression that makes Percy's heart thud painfully in his chest. He's never thought of Lucius Malfoy as being above fear, but to see his face betraying it...

"What is it?" Percy almost pleads.

"A Demigorge," Malfoy replies.

"A what?" Potter stares at the statue, then at his wand. And Lucius can't be right, Percy thinks, surely not!

"The fusion of a reanimated corpse, an inanimate object and a wizard's spirit," Malfoy throws back, his lips very pale. "A combination of necromancy and Dark Magic. Impervious to fire where Inferi are not, and immune to magic." He utters a short bark of a laugh. "Don't let it touch you, Potter. It's just as lethal as your Basilisk, although your death would be a lot uglier."

"But creating Demigorges has been outlawed by all wizarding bodies worldwide!" Percy protests, eyes glued to the creature as if it would vanish if he stared at it sternly enough. "There hasn't been one found in Britain since-"

"Yes, why don't you owl the Dark Lord a memo about upholding the Decree on Deleterious Conjuring - I'm sure he'll be impressed!"

"How do we destroy it, then?" Yes, leave it to Potter to come up with the pragmatic line, Percy grumbles inwardly, feathers still ruffled.

Malfoy laughs bitterly. "That's the point - we don't. Well, if we had a few weeks and a fully equipped laboratory to unmake the spells... But here - no."

Potter tears his arm out of Lucius' grip at last, and stares at the creature with the same stubborn expression Percy has come to dread. Then he hisses, the terrifying sound of a cobra about to strike that Percy has heard only once while visiting Bill in Egypt.

The statue - the Demigorge, Percy corrects himself - seems to cock its head, and when Percy peers at its face, he encounters eyes that look almost human, and are filled with an amused, frightening intelligence. The rumble repeats itself, and even as the fine hairs on his arms rise, Percy realises that the thing is laughing.

"So they've sent a Parselmouth to steal my Heir's soul." There is no grinding of stone lips and teeth in the creature's voice as it speaks, just a harsh, old-fashioned slant of vowels. "I hear you, young one, even if the tongue of serpents is beyond this form."

On Potter's other side, Malfoy bows his head with perfect sincerity. "Salazar Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."

"A Parselmouth and a traitor of my own House," the creature muses. "No, my Heir did not quite tell me to expect this."

"Did he do that?" Potter asks, eyes fixed on the creature's face intently. "Trap your spirit in this -" He gestures, and finally settles for "-body?"

"No, young one - my Heir called on my spirit, imploring me to guard his soul for him while he went out into the world to fulfil my legacy."

"One of the pieces he's split his soul into," Percy corrects, his mouth bone-dry. "He has made at least half a dozen." He trembles visibly as the Demigorge's attention focuses on him, but the tiny look of approval Lucius throws at him makes the ball of ice in Percy's stomach thaw a little.

"My Heir's designs are his own," the spirit of Slytherin declares, before his eyes return to Potter. "But you feel familiar, young one. Who are you that you dare challenge me for my possession? His son? Grandson?"

The young man's face twists in badly disguised revulsion. "Neither. But your 'heir' marked me as his equal when he tried to kill me as a baby and failed."

"Are you a child of my house then?"

Potter pauses as if he's considering a lie, then his shoulders straighten. "No. The Hat... it wanted me for Slytherin, but I'd been told that everyone who ever followed Voldemort and helped to murder my parents had been there. I went into Gryffindor."

The Demigorge shakes its head. "Then you are neither of my blood nor of my House, young one. If you were..." For an instant, it seems to hesitate, but then it takes a step towards the boy. "I will mourn the necessity of your death, because power like yours is rare. But my loyalty is to my own blood."

Percy sees a fleck of blood glittering on Harry's bottom lip. His eyes are dark.

"I may not be a pureblood, but my father was, and at least my mother was a witch," Potter retorts. "Tom Riddle is half-Muggle!"

The spectre stares at him, through him. "But that means nothing to you, boy. There is no glint of respect for wizarding blood inside you."

"It's still the truth!" Potter snarls, unmoving although Percy can see that his neck muscles are knotted with fear. The ghastly green-dipped fingers creep closer, almost touching Potter's cheek in a gesture that vividly reminds Percy of Lucius taking the Vow. And yet Potter makes no move to protect himself.

"A child of Slytherin," the spectre hisses, lips only inches from the boy's, "would flee. You are truly one of Godric's rabble!"

"Without the Horcrux, there's no sense in running," Potter replies, tilting his head up as if to dare the echo of the mad Founder to touch him. And then, "You refused the curse of the unicorn blood, did you not?"

The spectre pauses, frowns, and nods at last with an almost puzzled expression on its misshapen face. "Unicorns brought magic into the world, and their presence maintains it. Their blood is the purest substance in existence, and anyone who sheds it, or worse, takes it into himself, strikes a blow at the core of magic itself."

"Tom Riddle did not. Refuse it," Harry elaborates after a second's pause. "After the curse he'd cast at me backfired on him, he made his host body kill a unicorn and drink its blood to strengthen himself. I saw it."

The statue's face is not made to display emotion, but Percy believes he can see a glint of shock in the too-human eyes.

In one fluid motion, Lucius sinks down onto one knee and bows his neck. "My lord, we have not come to ask you to take sides against Lord Voldemort. I merely beg you to leave this boy to his own destiny. His and the Dark Lord's powers and bloodlines are connected by force, and a Prophecy binds them together - yet another manifestation of the core of magic."

"My Heir is the most powerful wizard this world has seen since my passing," Slytherin replies slowly. "Your boy is nothing but a child." Percy watches Harry running his hand through his mess of hair as the Demigorge turns a disdainful eye on him. "What would you have of me then, young one?"

Harry swallows, and Percy can't help but observe how his wandless hand lightly brushes Malfoy's robed shoulder. Something inside his stomach squirms at the sight.

"Please let me have the phial," Potter says.

The Demigorge stands perfectly still for a long moment, then it lifts its hand over Salazar's sarcophagus, and after another moment, something small and glittering appears right through the stone lid, hovers in the air above, and then clinks down safely on the lid. Potter's eyes are as large and dark as Percy has ever seen them as he steps up to stand next to the stone monstrosity, and closes his fingers around the phial so very carefully.

Then he drops to his knees, clutching the small crystal container to his chest, and bows his head even more lowly than Malfoy had before. "Thank you, my lord." And Percy is quite willing to bet his life that he has never used this particular phrase before, nor will again.

"If you make it out of here alive, young one," the Demigorge replies, "you might be a worthy child of my House after all." It laughs its rumbling laugh, then retreats back to its stone chair, crouching down, and in front of Percy's eyes the poisonous sheen recedes back into the stone. Its eyes go empty in a way that almost seems to express relief.

Harry climbs to his feet, the Horcrux still clutched to his chest. His eyes shine with disbelief. "We're alive!" he gulps.

"Indeed," Malfoy drawls, but it lacks its usual bite.

"How do I..." Potter uncurls his fingers from the little crystal phial. It's about the size of his palm, all glittering rock crystal with a few smears of silver still clinging to the inside.

"Just shatter it," Malfoy says. "It's the first of its kind - there were no Unbreakable Charms on potions equipment at its time."

... and never let the British Historical Society for Wizardry find out about it, Percy adds mentally, or they'll burn you alive.

Potter's hesitation lasts only a second, during which his fingers trace the lovely crystal surface of Rowena Ravenclaw's masterpiece, then he whirls around and dashes it against the corner of Slytherin's tomb. It shatters with the tinkle of breaking glass and scatters on the ground in hundreds of iridescent slivers.

Like an echo of the breaking Horcrux, something... hisses... along the walls, not snakelike, more like a water sizzling on a stove. At first Percy thinks it might be the sound of You Know Who's soul part being destroyed. But Potter has seen that happen before, hasn't he, and if his scared face is anything to go by, this isn't it.

The tiny flickers of blue lightning that kept fizzling along the walls ever since they made their way into the crypt seem to... burst out at once, multiplying at a terrifying rate until walls and ceiling are covered with a crackling carpet of black, blue and white. Percy ducks reflexively, ready to cast another protective charm, but the lightning does not descend on them. It just fills the whole crypt like a dome. It's almost beautiful.

"What-?" Potter whispers, wand raised in a reflexive gesture.

"The Dark Lord's final trap," Malfoy replies, eerily calm in the face of such a lethal obstruction. "If anyone managed to destroy the Horcrux, at least they would never make it out to endanger the others. Or him."

"Are you saying we're trapped here?" Percy gasps.

Malfoy's eyes ghost over his face in a way that reminds Percy of how his fingers kept running over Percy's skin the night before. His shoulders break out in goose bumps.

"The slightest touch of it is lethal," Lucius states. He leans down to pick a pebble out of the rubble, and hurls it towards the wall. The instant the little stone meets the carpet of lightning, it explodes in a shower of dust. The effect is even more terrifying because it happens without any sound. Potter's mouth looks like a thin, grey line as Malfoy continues. "There is no way of defusing the trap for anyone but the Dark Lord. There is, however, a way of passing through it..."

Potter's head whips around. "How?"

"It calls for a life," Malfoy answers, and something squirms sickeningly in the pit of Percy's stomach. "Spellwork of this magnitude always requires a... counterbalance. There is no such thing as a curse that cannot be overcome - you should know that, Potter. But it has been up to the Dark Lord to specify the conditions."

"A life..." Potter's voice is gravelly, and very cold. "Do you mean if I cast the Killing Curse on you, Percy and I can just walk out?"

It brings the ghost of a smirk back onto Malfoy's lips. "A specific life," he lectures, unperturbed. "The Dark Lord has tailored passage to a blood rite - the sacrifice of a loved one. Quite fitting to buy the freedom of the Boy Who Lived because of a similar sacrifice, don't you think? He's a master of irony, Tom Marvolo Riddle."

And Percy, who has miraculously continued to breathe throughout as if his body had refused to process Lucius' words as much as his brain, hears himself say, "I don't love you."

"You spent a night in my arms out of your own free will," Malfoy retorts coolly. "For the Dark Lord, who has certainly never lowered himself to any form of affection beyond that, it will be enough."

"You knew about that all along, didn't you?" Percy whispers, feeling as if his voice would break. "That's why you-" It does break then, and Malfoy interrupts him as if to spare him further shame.

"I admit that if the Ministry had sent Alastor Moody, I would have had a bit of a problem."

"Shut up!" Potter nearly spits at him, fists balled at his sides. "Shut up, shut up! Do you really think I'd allow anybody else to die for me? It's not going to happen!"

Malfoy closes the space between them in one quick stride, looking as if he wants to grab Potter's arm but doesn't. "You little fool! Would you rather leave all of us to rot here, or dramatically pulverise yourself by walking into the spellfield? Either one of us dies, or all of us."

 _Me_ , Percy thinks, with perfect clarity. _He's talking about me_.

"You knew about this from the start, didn't you?" Potter shouts. "You knew and you brought us here anyway, and you made Percy-" He breaks off with a sob, shaking with rage and Percy wonders if he's about to come apart at the seams.

"Of course I knew!" Malfoy snaps. "What would you have done if you'd known? Avoided the place altogether, and got yourself killed by the Dark Lord for hanging on to your precious chivalry? Don't you think the Dark Lord counted on the fact that none of Dumbledore's pure heroes would be able to do it?"

"You swore me an Unbreakable Vow - I forbid you!" Potter screams.

"I swore to fight for you and protect you, nothing more." Malfoy reaches up and caresses the soft underside of Potter's chin, as if he were stroking a kitten. "I'm not yours to command."

Potter slaps his arm away with a clenched fist. "You can fuck me - that'll do too!"

Malfoy's left eyebrow rises, and the corner of his mouth lifts up. "You mean here?" There is such a wealth of despair in Potter's pinched face that Percy feels it tug on him despite his own terror. Malfoy seems to understand, and all humour vanishes from his features. "You are what you are, little Harry. We need you for the Dark Lord."

The boy makes an inarticulate sound and flicks his wand. " _Sectumsempra!_ "

Percy has never heard the spell before, but Malfoy dives out of the way, a long slash of scarlet appearing on his shoulder and beginning to ooze blood.

"You little..." he snarls, and then, " _Expelliarmus!_ "

Potter's wand jerks out of his hand and flies towards Malfoy, but the young man throws himself after it without a heartbeat's consideration, barrelling into Malfoy's chest, fingers clawing at his throat. Potter struggles like a man possessed, with fists and nails but still handicapped by his tender ribs. Finally, Malfoy catches him with a brutal backhand across the mouth that sends him flying to the ground. He shakes his head in a half-daze, wiping blood off his mouth. When he tries to leap up again, Malfoy aims his wand and snaps, " _Petrificus Totalus!_ "

Percy actually winces at the sound Harry's head makes when it thumps onto the ground. Malfoy pulls the stiff body up by the front of its robe, and leans Potter upright against Slytherin's sarcophagus. Green eyes glitter with helpless, paralysed hatred.

At last, Malfoy turns to face Percy, who still stands rooted to the spot. He feels the familiar smooth wood of his wand between his fingers, pointing at the ground, and thinks about fighting. But it would be... undignified, and futile, and he'd only end up petrified like Potter anyway. Percy looks at his wand again, then stiffly places it on the coffin lid. He's quite proud that he can meet Malfoy's gaze straight on.

"What now?" he asks.

In Malfoy's hand, the mahogany wand shifts and shortens until the Death Eater holds a slender knife with a wickedly pointed tip. Percy swallows. There is a kind of... 'realness' to the weapon that even curses cannot quite manage to convey.

"I don't think it will hurt much," the man says, and Percy thinks _Don't you fucking patronise me!_ and hopes Malfoy will pick it up somehow. Then he spares Potter's stiff body a hateful glance.

"I won't forgive you for this like everybody else!" Percy snarls, aware that he's directing his wrath at the wrong target, but unable to look without rage into the tortured, innocent face that has doomed so many. Oh, he realises that he's playing into Malfoy's hands there, too, who seems quite happy to let the boy drown in his own misery. But he cannot forgive Potter for killing him.

Malfoy puts his free hand on Percy's arm and tugs him down to his knees along with himself. Percy lets him, feeling as if his skin is wrapped in cotton, or doused with a preservation potion. He's a bit cold, and nothing feels real. The metal of the knife glitters as it comes up to his throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut, shaking so badly with fright inside that he can't help but wonder why his fingers aren't even trembling.

So many things he's wanted to do. Become Minister of Magic. Marry Penelope Clearwater. Win the respect of his brothers. Now his parents are going to mourn him because he's dead, not because they'll understand they were wrong about him.

He feels the burn at his throat and yes, it hurts, but nothing like the sickening, marrow-curdling ache of the bone-knitting spell. Although there's fluid in his throat as if he's about to throw up. Then he realises it's probably blood.

He leans his head back against the sarcophagus and forces his eyelids to open again. He watches as Malfoy wets his fingers in the blood at his throat before leaning over to sketch an elaborated symbol on Potter's forehead just beside the scar that stands out like a vivid, bloody spill. More symbols - they look Sumerian or Akkadian as Percy remembers from Ancient Runes, and that's appropriate, isn't it, because these kind of rites are among the oldest in wizarding memory - are drawn on the boy's cheeks, temples, over the pulse-point at his throat and on the backs of his limp hands. Potter is pleading helplessly with his eyes until Malfoy swipes his bloody thumbs first over one eyelid, then the other. The last smear anoints Potter's lips, dark and glistening against his white skin.

"He really is the Chosen One, isn't he?" Percy murmurs with cooling lips, seeking reassurance, or perhaps just human contact.

Malfoy looks almost angelic as if there weren't some kind of monster lurking behind the lovely facade. "Yes, Percy - I truly believe he is."

"Tell him to go and kill that bastard - Voldemort." Percy enunciates the name clearly for the first time, or as clearly as his bloodless lips permit. "Or I'll haunt him to perdition."

Lucius leans down and kisses him fully on the mouth, and Percy's blurry thoughts mourn that it's a pity he can hardly feel it. Even now he can't quite bring himself to hate the other man. He should, but it would be like hating a Nundu for breathing. He would have been so much better off with Adrian Pucey...

Through drooping lids, Percy can see how Lucius applies the same sigils to his own face and hands in utter concentration, aware of the heavy, wet blot over his chest where the surplus blood still soaks into his robes, probably dyeing his hair a true red. The Death Eater marks his own lips in dark crimson, and pulls the knife from Percy's throat.

A roaring sound fills the inside of Percy's ears as blood rushes out of him unobstructed, spilling into his throat and tingeing the inside of his eyelids.

The world goes icy and dark, and Lucius' fingers linger on his pulse like a wad of cotton, the breath of a cloud, and then drift off altogether. For an instant, Percy's mind brushes an entity as old and cold as an ancient snake; it seems to observe him with detached curiosity and an utter lack of pity. Then that, too, floats away as he sinks into a sea of grey.


	5. Epilogue

Ten days after their successful escape from the crypt of Thirladean Hall, Lucius Malfoy paces the small upstairs room he has requisitioned as his 'study' in the Fidelius-protected Order safehouse. Although August is finally living up to its promise, a small fire crackles in the grate before him. His cloak is slung over the back of a delicate chair. Its two topmost buttons have been cut off again, and are spinning on the small writing desk. He has smuggled them out of Azkaban, then reattached them to his new cloak in the dingy robe shop off Diagon Alley under the oblivious noses of Potter and Weasley. A poke activates the Self-Transfiguration Charm that has been put on them, and returns them to their original parchment shape.

Lucius eyes the wrinkled letters coldly, then picks up the topmost parchment once again.

_My dear Lucius,_

_A mutual friend informs me that Lord Voldemort's threat to your son has made you reconsider your allegiances, and inclined to join us in our efforts to remove the shadow of Lord Voldemort from the wizarding world. Let me assure you that we will do all in our power to watch over Draco at Hogwarts and beyond. The same protection will be extended to your lady wife should she decide to accept it, as soon as we can approach her without compromising the safety of young Draco._

_Although your support will not influence my decision on this matter, I think you will agree that taking the battle to Lord Voldemort as quickly as possible will be the most prudent course of action, not least for your own protection and that of your family. To that end, I would lay at your feet a particular task that I myself am incapable of undertaking. Our mutual friend will divulge matters to you in detail if you should be agreeable._

_I remain yours sincerely,  
Albus Dumbledore_

The old man had not been joking. Indeed, when Severus Snape had turned up in his cell in Azkaban, scowling and bearing his Master's letter like a tattered messenger owl, the message itself had left Lucius torn between incredulity and amusement. To hear a proposition like this, from the Order of the Phoenix's paragon of virtue...

His eyes fall on the second parchment of his short correspondence with Hogwarts' Headmaster, and again he snorts in disgust.

_I can only most sincerely beg your forgiveness for burdening you with a task as ignominious as this. Indeed, Tom Riddle's trap leaves me not only helpless to act, but unable to offer you advice or assistance in any form. I would give everything in my power to bear this myself, but it cannot be._

Yes, even renowned Albus Dumbledore could not die twice, nor lay this particular burden on Snape as well. No, Dumbledore had known perfectly well that Lucius would never touch the small handful of people he loves - Narcissa, Draco, and perhaps even Severus, albeit with the detached affection one would show a misled younger brother. The Headmaster had known that an innocent would have to pay the price for the Horcrux, and Lucius cannot help but feel that the old coot made the convenient choice to die in order to avoid facing the outcome.

Lucius had not so much lied to Potter and Weasley as concealed a few crucial points. Of course the Bloody Baron had shared his knowledge with Hogwarts' Headmaster - after all, Lucius had received his information from Albus Dumbledore's quill itself. And his mother's invented descent from the Bloody Baron was impossible to disprove without the lifetime efforts of a scholar of wizarding genealogy. It had all worked according to plan in the end. Now, however, Albus Dumbledore's final request leaves him torn.

_I am well aware that I have no right to ask an additional boon, and know I cannot compel you. Nevertheless, I would urge you to conceal my involvement in this horrible affair from Harry until he has faced Lord Voldemort for the final time. He is very young and has suffered greatly. Even knowing and loving him like the son I never had, I fear that this knowledge might destroy his resolve or his ability to love and trust on which he will have to rely to defeat Lord Voldemort. If you can find it in yourself to bear my guilt and live as the target of his wrath until he can be safely told, you will have my eternal gratitude._

Levitating out of the crypt, safely shrouded in magic and with Potter's petrified form in his arms, Lucius had known it would not be easy. Although Potter had not attacked him on the spot when Lucius had released him from the spell, he had not looked at him or spoken once, as if a large part of him had died with Percy Weasley at the foot of Salazar's tomb.

For a moment, when they had faced the members of the Order in Grimmauld Place, Lucius had wondered whether Potter would break his side of the Unbreakable Vow - to speak up in Lucius' defence - and die out of pure spite. But he had uttered the required words, albeit with a face so stony that one of them - the Auror, Shacklebolt - had surreptitiously cast a Verification Charm on the boy. There can be no doubt that Potter is itching for a chance to avenge Weasley. Well, Lucius muses, if it gives him an additional incentive to kill the Dark Lord...

It would be a fitting revenge for Lucius' humiliation at Potter's hands to reveal to the boy how his trusted mentor had set the entire plan in motion. Especially since Lucius will wear the scar from Severus' Sectumsempra for the rest of his life. But then Lucius has seen the boy teetering at breaking point as he watched Percy die...

"I kept your secret, old man," Lucius sneers down at the parchment, at the loopy, eccentric handwriting that fits its owner so well. "The boy's opinion of you remains pristine, for all the good it will do him."

The old fool has filled Potter's head with fluff about love and choices, and then sent him off to a war where there would be none of either.

Lucius crumples the letters into a ball and hurls them into the grate. The fire kindles up at once, the parchment shining for a second in a translucent, golden glow that turns to crisp brown, shrivels in from the edges, and erupts as the flames eat through it.

"He should have chosen to love me instead, dear Albus - perhaps he would have suffered a little less."

_~ finis ~_


End file.
